For You To Notice
by badly drawn girl
Summary: A short reflection bit about Remus and the Marauders.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: I live for reviews (and _constructive_ criticism). Provides motivation and whatnot.

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Dark afternoon light fell in dusty shafts on the deep red carpet, causing the long shadows of couches and armchairs to creep across the floor as the sun slunk lower in the sky. The room was mostly quiet; a large number of the students had chosen to spend the Friday afternoon outside on the grounds, enjoying the cool early-Spring weather. Two fifth years were seated by the dull fire and were scribbling furiously on rolls of parchment, attempting to get a head start on the weekend's homework. They sat in blissful ignorance, oblivious to another presence in their midst. Seated in a tattered armchair on the other side of the room, a boy, no, young man, gazed out the window with an expression of yearning. He was thin, seeming almost malnourished, and rather pale. His hair was light brown and tousled, his eyes, tired. To any onlooker he appeared simply worn-out, stressed by what anyone would presume to be schoolwork. But while his marks certainly were a matter of concern to him, they weren't the source of his exhaustion.

"Aw, come on Moony, you've been working hard all day in class. Come out with us, you can start your homework tomorrow," his friend James had begged. But Remus had refused, said he was going to sleep a bit instead. James didn't argue, simply said they'd be by the lake if he changed his mind, and climbed out the portrait hole, most likely to join Sirius and Peter who were waiting outside.

Remus had never had friends like this until he'd come to Hogwarts. No one had ever really cared about him at all, save his parents, but being a part of a group of friends had brought as many hardships as it had joy. 

Sirius and James were the epitome of what any boy would want to be: good-looking, smart, athletic, loyal, witty, smooth, charming. Peter was their admirer; he wanted to be them as much as the rest of the school did. And Remus, well, he wasn't sure where he fit in. He was smart, too, and he shared their sense of humor, but he often found more things that separated him from them than bound them together.

They'd been the first people he'd ever come across to not scream and recoil when they found out his illness, found out he was a werewolf. No, instead they swore to help him. It took them over three years, but they succeeded, figured out how to become animagi so they could join him and keep him in better spirits during his transformations.

But even through all that it was still Sirius and James first. They'd become friends first, and Sirius had moved in with James now that things had become unbearable with his family. Seven years of friendship and it was still Sirius and James and _then_ the rest.

Remus was practical, tried not to let it bother him. But every now and then it would nag at him, and he knew he'd never, _couldn't_, belong. 

That afternoon would become a memory, another thought that could be extracted and placed in a pensieve, to be studied and relived. Years would pass and the bond he'd shared, the bond he'd doubted at some points, would become threadbare and strained. There had been four: loyal, humorous, full of life and passion. Then something went wrong. Someone slipped, and one of them faded. Was snuffed out completely. And then there were three.

Three friends, unsure and suspecting, confused as to where they had gone wrong. And one figured it out, accused the other, and ended up framed for a death he didn't commit, would never commit. One of them had crossed the line, played a hand in killing one and then in framing the other. And then there were two.

Two men, growing older with every day and weary of the world that had imposed on their innocence and killed their games. They smiled when they could, but new wrinkles appeared everyday and worries became heavier. They found new causes, new reasons to live, and then they were happy again. They could fight. But one of them slipped, somewhere he'd done something wrong. And his light was snuffed out, too. And then there was one.

Exhausted and cynical of this world, even breathing became a difficult task. He'd never belonged, but they'd at least tried to make this truth less glaring. But now they were gone, weren't they? Faded, lost, dead. And he'd lost all the light in his eyes, all the humor in his life, all his will to live. All that was left was a deep desire for revenge.

Remus Lupin was as good as dead. The boy had grown to manhood and matured, hardened, let his heart grow cold with the hatred the world had shown him

And then there were none.


End file.
